


Virgula Pro Mater (Story for Mother)

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Holiday, Humor, M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are in bed, minding their own business, when--.   For Mothers' Day.  However, no actual mothers are harmed (or even appear) in this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Virgula Pro Mater (Story for Mother)

## Virgula Pro Mater (Story for Mother)

by Jantique

Pet Fly having abandoned any claim to them, Jim and Blair, like Lincoln, now belong to the ages.   


For FAGELE, who last year said, "Don't get me any jewelry or flowers or gimcracks for Mother's Day. Why don't you write me a story instead?   


Pre-TSbyBS.   
Remember Emily Litella, Gilda Radner's character on "Saturday Night Live? The modern Mrs. Malapropshe used to mishear or misinterpret a phrase, and wound up saying, "Oh, well, never mind! I miss Gilda-but Emily lives on.   


* * *

**VIRGULA PRO MATER**  
(Story for Mother) 

by Jantique 

Jim Ellison lay face-down on the bed. Kneeling astride him, his lover gently massaged his naked body. It had been a long, hard week, with mind-numbing hours of police paperwork and/or teaching freshman-required classes alternating with adrenaline-laden, sweat-drenched minutes of criminal chasing and confrontational crises. But now it was Sunday, a beautiful morning in May. They really should take advantage of the fresh air and sunshine . . . and they would . . . but they had more important business to finish first. 

Sandburg caressed Ellison's back, working out the kinks in his partner's muscles as he crooned along with the Santana CD, "Got a black magic Sentinel, he's trying to make a Shaman out of me." The revised lyric didn't quite fit, but Blair figured his heart was in the right place. Jim snorted a laugh. "You kidding, Chief? You're the one with the magic! But keep singing." (He had his hearing dialed down as low as possible without going deaf.) 

The Shaman of the Great City continued his arcane ritual (lazily rubbing circles on his Sentinel's back). "You want to do anything today?" 

"Mmm." The Sentinel stretched and purred, just like one of the big ca--er, felines. "And doing this is a problem because?" 

"Hey, I can keep this up all day." 

"Chief, you're good, but not that good." 

"I _meant_ the massage!" 

Jim smirked. "Well, maybe you can, at that, but I'm an old man. You want to play some miniature golf and then shag a few balls?" 

"Sure," Blair happily acquiesced. He would win at golf; Jim was better at baseball. It was a win-win situation. "Oh, and remind me to call Naomi." 

"Wh--oh, right. You want to do that now?" 

Blair gave the love of his life a dirty look. "NO. Later. It can wait." 

Jim reasonably pointed out, "But you stopped rubbing my back." 

"Oh! Sorry!" 

He quickly resumed his duties, bending over and giving Jim a long, loving kiss, just to remind himself what a wonderful thing this was. The resulting game of tonsil hockey was a tie, going into overtime. This (after a quick gulp of oxygen) led to a kiss and a lick on the back of Jim's neck, which naturally led to one on each shoulder blade and so down his spine. During this procedure, the Sentinel produced the non-verbal grunts and low moans one would expect of a genetic throwback to pre-civilized man. (Or any man. They all are.) 

Blair kneaded Jim's ass, and placed a gentle kiss on each cheek. "Mmm, baby, I love your ass . . ." (Jim stretched comfortably), ". . . and I love your crack. . . ." as he placed a kiss at the top of the crevice. Jim obligingly spread his legs as Blair's hand slid down the rift. 

Suddenly Emily Litella burst in, gesticulating wildly. Appearing at the top of the stairs, she cried, "No, no, no! Get away from there! Young man, stop that _immediately_!" Blair stopped, eyes wide. Detective Ellison turned to face her, NOT getting up in the process, and in his best 'I'm the Law, don't mess with _me_ ' voice, growled, "What the hell is going on here?!" (The fact that he was naked and rather obviously not carrying a concealed weapon (1) , or even packing a pistol--only minimally lessened the effect.) [(1) Suffice it to say, he was _not_ happy to see her.] 

Emily helpfully explained, "The instructions clearly said no mention of Jim's crack! I don't think you should even be touching it." She rummaged through her reticule, fishing out a scrap of paper. "See? It says so right here!", she exclaimed triumphantly. She squinted through her woefully inadequate glasses, holding the paper at various distances and angles, trying to read it. "No jewelry, no flowers, _NO JIM'S CRACK_!" 

The boyz ( _sic_ ) looked at each other. After a long moment (a period of time somewhat greater than 1/60th of a second), Blair gently said, "Uh, Emily? I think that's 'jimcracks' (alt. spel. 'gimcracks'). (Origin uncertain.) You know, knickknacks, bric-a-brac, curios. _Tchotchkas_. Things people give you as presents for display which you probably didn't like to begin with." (Sandburg being an Anthropology major, rather than English, he felt free to use a preposition to end his sentence with.) "Not _Jim's_ ," he paused, "crack." 

Ms. Litella processed this. She thought for a minute, fluttered her hands aimlessly, and chirped, "Oh, well, _NEVER MIND_!" She scurried down the stairs, calling over her shoulder, "As you were!" 

Blair flopped on his back next to Jim. "Oh, man, that blows! That, like, _totally_ sucks!" (All of which meant he was no longer "in the mood" to perform the aforementioned actions.) 

Jim considered. "Um, babe, maybe this would be a good time for you to call Naomi." 

Blair grabbed the phone and hit the speed-dial. "Right, I'm on it." 

"And tell her from me--" 

"Hi, Mom?--" 

(In chorus:) 

**"HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!"**

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Page 3 of 4 

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End Virgula Pro Mater (Story for Mother) by Jantique: jan.fielding@dcp.state.ma.us

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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